A strange casper midstride

This moldering rainfall
survives when the sky departs.
Somehow, like people nailed
upon their families, it walks
through an alley of stones.
And up & through slopes
of handwritten death it
falls so hard it forgets
the reason it came so hard
in this, the wellspring pit.
And runs into impaled rodents
ascrew into roofs, & into you,
a stranger who is dry onion in rotten soup.
Now more drowning naked chickens
stoned alive in their handwrought houses
like any other debris blessed enough
to own a face, but for a god not yet stuffed.